


Platonic

by cuckleberrywish



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuckleberrywish/pseuds/cuckleberrywish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s completely platonic,” Donna explains to her mother for the fifth time, preoccupied with watching the Doctor and Wilf tinker away with the television in the adjacent room. She hears the whir of the screwdriver and rolls her eyes. He can’t resist.</p><p>“I’m just saying, you do an awful lot of touching,” Sylvia mutters, and she says ‘touching’ like it’s the filthiest conceivable activity. “I know what you’re like.”</p><p>Denial isn't a river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can't seem to stop writing these two in denial. Based on a tumblr prompt that I've since lost. (Oops!)

“It’s completely platonic,” Donna explains to her mother for the fifth time, preoccupied with watching the Doctor and Wilf tinker away with the television in the adjacent room. She hears the whir of the screwdriver and rolls her eyes. He can’t resist.

“I’m just saying, you do an awful lot of _touching_ ,” Sylvia mutters, and she says ‘touching’ like it’s the filthiest conceivable activity. “I know what you’re like.”

Donna opens her mouth to retaliate but is saved the inevitable row when sparks fly up from the television and the Doctor leaps back, sending a vase clattering to the ground with an errant elbow. Donna imagines steam blowing out Sylvia’s ears as she watches her mother’s face turn a threatening shade of scarlet.

“Oi!” Donna shouts through the doorway, fleeing her mother’s impending outburst. “Don’t you blow that up, it’ll be the third household appliance you’ve ruined this week!”

“To be fair, our toaster is definitely more–”

“Blackened? Charred? A burnt out husk of its former glory?”

“– _efficient_ now. That bread was toast in three seconds flat–”

“Because it was _on fire_ ,” Donna enunciates carefully and momentarily he looks a little guilty.  

“Still… did the trick, didn’t it?” He flashes her his most charming grin.

Donna cracks a smile but for some reason Sylvia isn’t amused.

* * *

“It’s completely platonic,” the Doctor explains soberly to Sarah Jane. Donna is visiting her family and so he’d figured it was as good a time as any to visit his own version of family. They’re sat round the table with a pot of tea between them.

Sarah-Jane doesn’t push the subject, but there’s something all too knowing about her expression as she appraises him over the rim of her mug.

* * *

 Wilf pulls him aside one night and gives him the speech no one can resist for long around him.

“If you hurt her–” he begins, and the Doctor sputters, “It’s not like that!”

“All the same,” Wilf warns, and the Doctor smiles.

“I know,” the Doctor says. “I understand.”

Wilf’s eyes twinkle and the Doctor sees a glimpse of Donna’s mirth in them.

“And you take care of her? _Really_?” Wilf fixes him with a shrewd-eyed stare and the Doctor suddenly feels keenly as though he’s being x-rayed straight through.  

“I reckon she takes care of me,” the Doctor assures him gently, echoing his words from earlier. Wilf smiles and murmurs, “That’s my girl.”

* * *

_Martha_ of all people should understand. She’s traveled with the Doctor. She ought to understand that he acts closer to nine than 900 and requires more physical contact than any bloke she’s ever met. Still, Donna catches her eyeing their tightly clasped hands as they stroll along the High Line, half-listening to the Doctor as he waxes poetic about the architectural marvels of New York City.

Later, when the Doctor has wandered away along the subway platform and is crouched beneath some massive mechanical-looking contraption with a number of levers on and a sign that clearly reads AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, Martha sidles up to Donna.

“So how are things with you two?” she asks. Donna frowns.

“Good?”

“Any… developments?”

Donna huffs out a breath. “What are you trying to ask me, Martha?”

“I was only wondering if you two–”

“Look, right, I am bloody tired of people making… making _comments_ about me and him!”

“Donna, I–”

“So occasionally he likes a cuddle. You should know him, you traveled with him, you know what he’s like, he’s like some sort of–” she splutters, stumbling over her words.

“Donna–”

“We’re friends! That’s all! End of sentence! Period! Exclamation point! Whatever! I don’t want to talk about this!”

Donna stalks away, leaving Martha flabbergasted in her wake.

“Donna?” she calls hesitantly.

“ _What_!?” Donna bellows, spinning on her heel. Martha shrinks back visibly.

“I only wondered if…” She pauses. “That is, I wondered whether you’d convinced him to come to my wedding. That’s all. I swear.”

Donna deflates abruptly. “Oh. Er… I suppose that’s fine then.”

“Yep,” Martha says, popping the ‘p’ and rocking back and forth on her heels in a pretty decent impression of the (currently wayward) Doctor. Donna gathers what’s left of her dignity.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get a chance to apologise or explain herself because at that moment the Doctor materialises beside her, his expression sheepish.

“We should think about leaving,” he says, his gaze darting back and forth down the tunnel.

“What have you done?” Donna groans.

“Best not think about it. Off we pop!”

“I swear I’m never letting you out of my sight again!” Donna pants, as he drags her up the stairs and out of the subway station. Martha follows close behind.

“Oh they’re so picky about _trains_ and _where they go_ ,” the Doctor scoffs. “You’d think they’d welcome a bit of creativity and I think they’ll realise that what I’ve done is really quite a bit more efficient than what they had before–”

“Oh _efficient_ like our toaster?”

“What’d he do to the toaster?” Martha interjects.

“Turns out, in between saving the universe, he’s–” Donna jabs an accusing finger in the Doctor’s direction, “–completely rubbish.”

“Well I could have told you _that_ ,” Martha snorts.

The Doctor grins, unapologetic as ever, and Donna’s scowl deepens.

Several hours later when they bid Martha farewell, Donna is still feeling guilty at her outburst until Martha snags her wrist as they’re stepping into the TARDIS.

“So then _are_ you two shagging?” she asks, just loud enough for Donna to hear.

Donna slams the door in her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just _love_ making these two uncomfortable. I don't know why! I love it!
> 
> (Note rating change.)

“Why does everyone think we’re together?” Donna asks, steadying herself against the Doctor's chest as she straddles him on the jump seat.

“I s’pose we look about the same age,” he muses, a little dazed as she reaches between her legs to release him from his trousers. “It’s only natural.”

“Even Martha though, and she knows us about as well as anyone.”

“Maybe it’s because of my good looks and charm,” he suggests, with a rakish grin.

“Or maybe it’s because you hang onto me like a leech,” she counters. He decides there’s much better things she can do with her mouth than mocking him and pulls her down for a kiss, just to shut her up.

“What did you and Martha talk about?” he murmurs against her, as his lips wander downward toward her lovely, angular collarbone.

“What?” she asks breathlessly, and drags him up again by the hair so she can suck on his earlobe. His thoughts flutter in rapid staccato and momentarily he forgets what he’d asked in the first place. It’s almost too easy for her to scramble his planet-sized brain.

“Before,” he supplies. “When I was up the platform.”

“Oh, you know,” she mutters. She doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t push the subject because her hot, clever hands have wrestled his shirt out from his trousers and are raking up the bare skin of his back.

In the end, he doesn’t bother taking her dress off. He yanks her knickers out from under her skirt and she perches over him on the jump seat as he none-too-gently pushes aside the neckline of her dress, pressing his mouth to the soft, white skin he uncovers there.

“You’ll stretch it out,” she grunts, suddenly.

“ _Excuse me_?!”

“My dress.”

“Oh! _Oh_.” He laughs, a short, barking sound. “Oh no, that won’t do at all.”

He fumbles with the zipper between her shoulder blades and drags it down a little too eagerly, hears the snag of ripping fabric and freezes.

She snorts. “You didn’t.”

His sheepish expression gives him away instantly, of course. This body never did have much of a poker face.

“I’m going to kill you,” she growls and then groans because he surges upward, his hand slipping between them. She sinks down on him and sets a lazy rhythm. He strokes her in time, mesmerised.

“I’ll have the TARDIS repair it,” he offers, still mostly-distracted by the strawberry flush steadily creeping down her cleavage.

“She tried to patch a pair of jeans last week and just ended up setting them on fire.”

“Well, I’ll have a chat with her about her efforts.”

“You’d think considering she manages to pull entire rooms out of thin air, a bit of simple patchwork would be no problem for her.”

“I’m sorry if my ancient, sentient, multi-dimensional time ship who has seen the rise and fall of this and every universe is not concerned with a bit of petty sewing _–_ ”

“Oi, my nan was a seamstress! It put dinner on the table! It’s not _petty,_ you pretentious alien wank–”

“Can we not talk about your nan?”

“ _What’s wrong with my nan?_ ”

“I mean, can we not talk about your nan _right now_?”

She cackles, and the sound catches in her throat as he nips at her collarbone and speeds up his thumb. She shifts and gasps, and he smirks. _Well that’s certainly more like it._

“It’s just… it’s my… favourite... dress,” she pants persistently, growing increasingly breathless. He tucks his tongue behind his teeth and redoubles his efforts, grinning as she throws her head back and moans long and low in her throat. He knows her well by now, knows by the urgency of her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades that she’s close.  

Just before she comes, she manages to growl, “I’m still very cross with you,” but then she shouts his name intermixed with a stream of profanities and clutches desperately at his shoulders and shudders delightfully in his arms so he thinks, all things considered, she probably doesn’t mean it. And then he finds he can’t think much at all anyways.

When he comes back to earth, she clambers off of him, arranging her dress neatly over her legs and nestling beside him in the crook of his shoulder. She heaves a contented sigh and he tangles his fingers with hers.

“We are good at that,” she says emphatically and he smiles.

“Sex?”

“Bickering.”

He laughs and smooths a damp strand of red hair behind her shoulder.  The simple gesture sends goose pimples radiating over her pale skin and he allows himself to feel a little smug.

She’s silent for a moment, and he half thinks she’s dozed off, limp and beautiful on the jump seat next to him.  He lives for these little moments of peace between them when she’ll tolerate what she deems his excessive need for physical contact. He thinks that she secretly enjoys it just as much as he does, by the wane smile curving her lips and the way she strokes the back of his hand every so often with her thumb, a gesture of pure, unconscious affection. Then:

“And I s'pose sex isn’t half-bad either,” she admits, her eyes closed.

He grins, and kisses her hair.  He reckons it’s about as close to a compliment he’ll get from her.

* * *

 On a breezy day in Cardiff, Jack walks into the TARDIS as if he owns the place, as is his wont. 

Only to find Donna shoved up on the console, ankles crossed behind the Doctor's back as he yanks at the buttons of her blouse. 

Donna notices first, since she's facing the door. She freezes, blue eyes wide, her flushed cheeks going from pink to white and then to a worrying shade of deep scarlet in what seems a matter of seconds. The Doctor is at a disadvantage because he is highly focused on the task at hand and doesn't seem to notice that Donna has gone stiff as a board for a long moment until she yanks hard on his ear to drag him up from where he's delicately nibbling on her cleavage. He gives a little indignant squawk of surprise, and then does his own deer-in-the-headlights impression to rival Donna's. His shirt is completely unbuttoned, though his tie is still done up, making him look thoroughly ridiculous. His hair is wilder than ever, and he has that dewy, slack-mouthed look on his face that Jack dreams about sometimes. 

"I–It's not... It isn't–" the Doctor says, articulately. 

"It's completely platonic!" Donna finally blurts out, over the Doctor's ongoing stuttering. 

Jack howls with laughter the entire way back to Torchwood and for a long time thereafter. 


End file.
